Have you heard of the Wus?
You should see how the name slices fear into Mahoutokoro students.
You should hear the whispers of the fool that harmed one of their daughters.
Have you heard of the Wus?
I hope not.
They don't like to be spoken of.
Bad things happen when their mark falls.
Immunity to mom jokes is a treat of a lifetime. Huo Nai'er was born to two wizards who'd only swum in rivers of clover all their lives. They welcomed her into the world with a celebration that could've funded twenty lavish weddings. She had two older siblings, not far in age but far in interests. Her favourite in the playground was the monkey bars, so her fathers had the idea to get her into gymnastics. everything and anything for the glory of the family name. She started off as well as any other child, but in time, her teachers were swearing up and down they'd never seen such raw grit before. When Nai'er wanted to make a point, she drove it home and hugged it like a teddy bear. The commendations and the praise set their home aglow with pride. Her fathers spoke of nothing besides encouragement for all three of them at every family dinner. More recognition came in the form of a entertainment company visiting her school to watch their exercises and picking her out to become a trainee. She was six and she made sure her dads knew how excited she was for the idea. Her cartwheel down the hallway ended with landing at the bottom step of the stairs, unscathed. They couldn't say no after that.
Her brother died.
Do you get your looks from your mom? Before, Ciel would swell with pride as she said no, she got it from both her dads. The halls that once were always lit, open, now relied on the open drapes. Ciel was tracing dust butterflies on the glass windows when one of their few remaining servants came to tell her the next day was her last day at her school. April 20. Two days before her birthday. Her brother's birthday and deathday. The same day she decided Nai'er was no more and years later, Lucien Fleury fondly called her Ciel - sky. It would be the last day she'd ever step foot in her own house or see her bedroom. Grief and loss had ravaged her present, torn apart the foundations of her home, and driven her parents deeper into the underworld. Ten year old Ciel didn't have to unpack at Silencio Records' dorms. When she'd walked out, she'd taken one suitcase and one quivering drop of hope. Off that one drop, she weaned herself from fantasies and accepted nothing less than the truth. The first two years at SR were the hardest. She had brought one change of clothes and had to wake up at the crack of dawn to wash them. The cafeteria charged per meal, so there were days when she couldn't eat at all. Shampoo was too much of a privilege to spend on. The hair had to go. Snip snip. In that time, she dreamed that her dads, who knew where she was, would come to get her. They didn't. The dreams stopped in the third year. Right on time too. Wet pillows were never comfortable to lie on.
People came and went. That was how entertainment worked. Ciel had no time to go out of her way to make relationships. It was good they came to her. Practice rooms are never empty in SR, be it three in the morning or eleven at night. They were where Ciel had most of her social encounters, outside of her dorm. She watched the people she'd shared morning greetings with debut, leave, and for some dissatisfied ones, switch to another label. Amidst the trials of training, unknown kindness lent a hand every once in a while. She owed her first phone to that. Hand me down or not, it was practically brand new when it was dropped into her care. Her Hogwarts letter had come the day before she ran away, but she received her Hogwarts acceptance notification when she had her phone set up months later. If Durmstrang hadn't been so far away from everything and everyone she'd come to know, she would've gone there instead for her pen pal. Not many things and people had stayed the same after her brother's death. Suzanne Fleury was one of the few that came with a Permanent Sticking Charm. In some ways, Ciel went into the orphaned runaway life, not as alone as she originally thought she would be. Trainees were portrayed as this storm of perfection, a whirlwind born to breathe and enact the art. Some were. It was easy to look the other way if they wished for their struggles to be stones unturned and stories with pages torn out. Park Ilman was, is, a total jackass hanging inside a closet, but Ciel's not afraid to air out some less than ideal clothes. Wardrobe malfunctions came with the territory. Ilman was one of them.
In Ciel's first year at Hogwarts, she spent most of her time in the towers. Less people, lots of space, and the stars and floorspace to herself. She stayed out of people's way. Most were out of hers. Ilman? Not so much. For a star student, he was prone to hiding away like some common crook and bumping into her. When she told him of this observation the first time, he told her to fuck off. Apparently, she looked sad enough to make him feel bad about it. This catapulted into a sequence of events making them realize they were both under SR, and that both of them weren't the most social. Much like Suzanne, Ilman got stuck to her without much meditation on the topic. At the start of her third year, she hoped that the breaks that came with the mandatory electives would be worthwhile. It would be the least of her worries. Her troubles came to an all time high. Scandal after scandal hit Silencio, forcing her to leave everything behind and switch labels. New routines, new people, and the new classes chipped away at her. An ankle and shin injury banned her from practice. Worst of all, her older sibling visited before Christmas. She wasn't seen leaving the dorms for months after that.
That year carved new scars into her. And this time they didn't go unnoticed. She joined Lysander in the support group that their labels insisted they go to. Fourth year came and went like a dull knife: barely there but painful all the same. She refused visits from her family and clung to Ilman's presence like it was her last breath. Most of her nights were cooped up half-assing homework and poring over music sheets in frustration. She felt like she'd lost her muse for music and life itself. No longer did she roll out of bed at four sharp. And Suzanne? Suzanne was another issue. She passed her exams through too many extensions, too many remedial classes, and too many meetings with the professors. Her fifth year hasn't begun with a bang, but all she really wants it is to end as swiftly as possible.